LETTER FROM A COLLEGE GRAD

in now-defunct personal blogJune 11, 2007

Exactly two weeks since Spain, and it feels like I never left home. The only remnants of my semester abroad are the countless museum brochures and ticket stubs I’ve acquired and a Barcelona seashell atop my stereo speaker. The hundreds (or thousand?) photos sit dormant in my hard drive.

It’s funny how quickly life shifts back to normal. I’d dreaded my return and the reverse culture shock of living in the States. Aside from the stomach pains of readjusting to American food, I’ve reintegrated myself into society seamlessly.

I’ve attended grad parties, danced at the usual Thirsty Thursday spot, caught up with friends, spent time with Phil and have surfed the Internet with little thought to the former inefficient (and pirated) connection in Barcelona. My life for the past four months seems a distant memory. Conversations with friends I made in Barcelona have been reduced to wall posts and messages.

The night I arrived in Richmond, my friends said I was the same ol’ Karen. Still sarcastic and aficionado of making weird noises. Still guzzler of Natty. The only noticeable change was my skin tone. I was about three shades darker (some would argue five). Saying some witty phrases in Spanish was a popular request.

“Hola!” I’d say.

Wit at its prime indeed.

No one saw the real changes that evolved the past four months. They’re a bit more intrinsic, I suppose. I’ve altered some habits. Living with so much free time and without the burden of work left me with more “me” time. It also left me without purpose. Aside from perfecting Spanish, attending tedious classes and enjoying the occasional pitcher of Sangria, I had little motivation to do much else. And if you know me well, you know anything I find uninteresting I tend to neglect. Anything that stimulates my mind and benefits me intellectually, however, I give my 110 percent.

It was this inherent stubbornness that led me to – ahem – flub my Spanish art history final. The professor’s unintelligible ramblings in the echo-friendly room and his propensity to talk to the front of the room while showing slides of timeless works by timeless artists left me unimpressed. And bored. I often found myself napping on the church pew-like desks just two feet away from the back of said professor’s head.

I’d never really experienced academic failure before. Academic mediocrity, sure. Though I’d known all along what potential failure and poor marks would do to my transcript, I refused to study for the final. It was my silent protest against all unintelligible, boring and arrogant professors everywhere. In the end, I’m not sure if I achieved much from it. I left the exam room wishing I never set foot in there in the first place. I left the professor muttering to my classmates the erroneous answers test takers had turned in. He read their answers aloud and ridiculed them. When a classmate requested that he refrain from such rude practices he scoffed (in Spanish), “You Americans. Always making mistakes!”

I realized I lost my silent protest as soon as I set foot in their country. They, along with their fellow Unionites, already had preconceived notions about me. My North Face book bag and American Eagle flip flops were sufficient reason enough to scorn me. Any misstep I made wasn’t because I simply made an error. It was because I was American. Or, as Spaniards would prefer it, North American (after all, there are many types of Americans, folks!).

Coffee-shop discussions with international classmates often led to why anything but America was better. I was outnumbered. I also couldn’t say anything to sway their opinion. After all, for the non news-readers, the window to American life lies on MTV’s shoulders. They see Laguna Beach as the ultimate American destination, and spoiled 16-year-old debutantes as the voice of that generation.

For the MTV Europe generation, anyone from California is so totally awesome. Conversations often went like this:

European classmate: Where are you from?Californian classmate: California.European classmate: Wow, that’s so totally awesome. *Turns to me* What about you?Me: Virginia.European classmate: Oh. *Turns to classmate #1* So, tell me more about California.

Who could blame them for this skewed perspective? Especially not after this weekend. Paris returning to jail took precedence over whatever went on at the Pentagon. CNN showed a play-by-play for several hours. Paris getting handcuffed, Paris being escorted to court, Paris picking her nose.

It’s discouraging to know that the international community views this country in such an unflattering light. It’s even more discouraging to know that there are Americans in Europe who confirm these stereotypes. I actually met them.

To say I’m the same person after this trip would be inaccurate. I’m still 5 feet and 100-some pounds. Short and sarcastic to a T, but I’ve acquired an altered perspective on certain things. For one, we really are spoiled and egocentric. We spend little time thinking outside of ourselves. Secondly, we need to run tests for American students who wish to study abroad to ensure they don’t perpetuate the Ugly American standard abroad. Third, I need to take a more active approach in everything I do. When I say I will do something, I should do it with little to no procrastination. I can’t be complacent and return to old habits. Fourth, No, I’m not better than anyone else. I just express criticism better than positive affirmations. I, too, can be a very Ugly American.

And finally, silent protests are futile. Nothing makes a statement as much as proving your naysayers wrong.

So here I am, a recent college graduate on the brink of starting my journalism career. I’m quite hopeful and also a bit nervous. Still, I’m taking everything I’ve learned from my study-abroad stint, my college experiences and even some university courses to forge my path.

Five years later I’m a little bit more enlightened, wiser and knowledgeable of things outside myself.